MICHELLA CADEN

The shrill scream of my alarm tore me out of sleep, stabbing straight through my skull. I groaned as soon as I tried to move. Every muscle in my body protested at once, throbbing with a deep ache that made me feel like I had slept on a slab of solid rock. I reached blindly across my sheets, patting around for my phone while my head pounded. “What the hell happened last night?” I muttered under my breath, squeezing my eyes shut as flashes of pain shot through my limbs. I tried to piece the night together, but the memory felt blurry—like my mind was shielding me from something too chaotic to revisit. And then, slowly, painfully, everything replayed itself. — LAST NIGHT — I remember walking into the living room already annoyed—annoyed at the world, at the day, at my own breath. “Great,” I had hissed under my breath. “Do I have to see his stupid stoic face today too?” My mother cleared her throat softly, almost warningly. Then she turned toward him with a smile so polite it made me roll my eyes. “So,” she said sweetly, “to what do we owe this unexpected visit?” “When you said you were coming over, we honestly thought it was a joke,” my father added. He laughed dryly, but Andrew Cuomo didn’t. He simply sat there, perfectly still, like a marble statue carved without a single human emotion. He had never been the social type. He barged into people’s lives like a storm, made demands, and left no room for argument. So him showing up unannounced already felt like a bad omen. “I’ve come to a conclusion,” he said flatly. “I’m ready to become business partners with you.” My dad’s eyes widened slightly. My mother’s fingers twitched on her lap. There was more. We all felt it. “But,” Andrew continued, voice smooth and cold, “I have a condition.” My dad straightened. “And what would that be?” Andrew didn’t blink. He didn’t shift. He didn’t breathe. “I want her,” he said simply, lifting a hand and pointing straight at me. I froze. My world froze. Everything around me came to a stop. I even turned around to check if someone—anyone—was behind me. But there was no one. Just the wall. “I don’t understand,” my father said, eyebrows knitting in confusion. “What do you mean you want her?” “I want her,” Andrew repeated. “I will only proceed with this partnership if Michelle agrees to marry me.” There it was. The bomb. Dropped in the center of our living room like a grenade with my name engraved on it. He leaned back in his chair, smirking slightly. It wasn’t a warm smirk. It never was. It was sharp, mocking, infuriating—an expression he wore like armor. Could the day get any worse? I was already mentally exhausted, and now this cold-hearted sociopath decided to turn my life into a business deal. I gave my dad a sharp look—one eyebrow raised, eyes wide, silently screaming: “Say something. Anything.” “Just… give us a minute,” my mother said quickly. She stood and dragged my father with her into the hallway. The room went cold as soon as they left. Andrew didn’t help matters—his presence alone lowered the temperature by ten degrees. I glared at him, arms folded, jaw clenched. “One would think I stole a baby’s candy with the way you’re glaring at me,” he said, unbothered. “What are you planning now?” I shot back. “The cold and ruthless CEO who hates working with women suddenly wants to settle down? And with his enemy? I must say—I’m impressed.” He chuckled once, a low sound that didn’t reach his eyes. Those unmistakable emerald-green eyes… They were beautiful in the most dangerous way. Like a forest that hid wild beasts. Like something you could drown in if you looked too long. His lips—soft, pink, infuriatingly perfect—curved into another smirk. That smirk had ruined countless board meetings, corporate rivalries, and now… my peace. This man was an unmelted block of ice. A walking iceberg in designer suits. And now he wanted to marry me. I almost laughed at the absurdity. “That’s definitely a big no,” I murmured to myself. “What’s a big no?” he asked, tilting his head. “Care to share your thoughts?” “Oh please,” I snapped. “You don’t get to barge into my house and demand I marry a—” “Shut up, Michella.” My mother’s voice sliced through the air as she reentered. I blinked. Did she just—? My dad cleared his throat awkwardly. “We agree,” he said. My heart nearly burst out of my chest. Andrew smiled—not warmly, but triumphantly. “Wonderful. Then I’ll sign the contract on the day of our engagement party. It will be a double celebration—our business partnership… and her becoming mine.” He emphasized mine just to provoke me. “I look forward to partnering with you, Mr. Caden,” he said, then turned toward me. “And to making you mine, Michella.” He shook my father’s hand and walked out, leaving a trail of chaos behind him. As soon as the door shut, I whirled on my dad. “This is absurd!” I yelled. “You can’t just sell me off for power and fame! You promised—PROMISED—you would never use me for business!” “Calm down, Ella,” Dad sighed. “This is for your good,” my mother added. “And starting tomorrow, you’ll be attending Everest High.” “What?!” I gasped. “Dad!” “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Dad said gently. “But he insists. He wants you to attend a real school.” “This isn’t fair!” I cried. “I don’t bother anyone, my grades are perfect, I’m fine with my private tutor—why are you letting him control my life? He’s not even my husband yet!” “You need to mingle, Ella,” Mum said. “People have been asking questions. No one ever sees you. Even socialite children don’t know what you look like!” “And I WANT it that way!” I snapped. “I love my privacy! I don’t need to mingle with those spoiled brats who live off their parents’ money.” “Then mingle with them,” Mum said, “and tell them whose wife you’re about to become.” I stepped away when she tried to touch me. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t stay in that room another second. I snatched my motorcycle keys. “Ella, it’s late—” Dad began. “Let her go,” Mum said. “She’ll return after she calms down. She’ll understand we’re doing her a favor.” A favor. Right. I stormed out of the house, fury burning through my veins. The only place I knew to go—the only place that ever soothed me—was the underground motorcycle race near our neighborhood. I’d been racing since I discovered it during an early morning run months ago. It was an all-boys circuit, and nobody knew I wasn’t one of them. The helmet helped. The voice-disguiser helped more. I only showed up when a race was about to begin. I left immediately after winning. I liked my anonymity. “He’s here! He’s here!” the girls screamed as I approached on my bike. They adored me. Pathetic. They’d never even seen my face. But the moment the countdown began, the world shrank. My anger melted into focus. “5… 4… 3… 2… 1—START!” The gunshot echoed and the race exploded into motion. The wind slapped my skin, wild and cold. I leaned into the ride, letting the engine’s roar drown out every thought—my forced marriage, my parents’ betrayal, Andrew’s smirk. For a moment… I felt free. Then— A bang. A violent, metallic crash. My bike jerked. The world spun. I felt myself tumbling—hard—down the asphalt. I clung to my motorcycle with everything in me, praying silently, desperately, to survive long enough to understand why my life was being ripped apart.